Blood Lilies
by Fearless Fault
Summary: When Alain Dufont left Muiri's reputation in tatters she wanted to plunge a dagger so deep in his chest that it could never be pulled out again. But when her nerve failed another was called upon to spill blood in her name. She got what she wanted... but not what she bargained for. (undergoing massive rewrites currently,)


**Last Revision 9/15/14**

**Warning:** There will be spoilers for some quest lines. I will not be sticking to quest lines word for word that would be boring. There is lots of violence and some scenes may cause squeamish readers to feel squeamish. There will be sexual implication and possibly more in later chapters so watch out for a rating change. This is not a Dragonborn centered fic. I do not in anyway condone most of the things the characters in this do. Some content could be considered creepy and it is intentional. But if you like it please consider telling me your opinions in a review, they are much appreciated.

* * *

"Drowning your sorrows I see." It was a voice sweeter than moon sugar and just as addictive. Amid the flickering light from the hearth Muiri's face blanched behind the brim of her mug, for no amount of alcohol could mask the shiver of fear that slivered down her spine. Mead sloshed from her forgotten stein as she twisted in her seat towards where the voice had originated only to spill completely as she lurched to her feet.

"You! I didn't… uh.. yes well, I already told you why," she stammered, the words hitching in throat. And who could blame her? For on the bed looking as comfortable as a well fed cat was a black clad figure that certainly hadn't been there when she'd rented the room. There was no doubt in her mind who this was, that stature that was lofty but lithe, the small red hand print embroidered over the left shoulder of his robes and the voluminous hood hiding all but his mouth in shifting shadow. There really wasn't any way she could forget, after all she'd expected to see him again but not like this…

_'How did he get in here without me seeing? Or hearing for that matter? It's not like the doors here are particularly_ silent,' her mind questioned, each possible answer no more helpful nor likely than the last. Perhaps he'd been waiting there before her? But to what purpose she wondered. '_Why is he back so soon though? surely he didn't finish the contract in only a few days,' _her mind raced while outwardly she attempted to regain her composure. "So then, is there some problem with the contract? Or did you have more questions for me?" The memory of their last meeting inside the Hag's Cure was still fresh in her mind.

"Neither is there a problem nor question to be asked, my frozen lily. I'm merely here to collect the agreed upon amount." The shadow of his hood kept the upper half of his face obscured but it didn't mask the cat like grin that spread across his grey features at her surprised expression. "And the bonus as well. Seeing as the Shatter-Shields are now entirely daughterless."

"That's impossible! You killed both of them? But you were just here only a few nights ago!" She couldn't help but drop her jaw in disbelief, her feet taking several unconscious steps backwards as if to put as much distance between them as possible. She collided with something clothed, solid and altogether more frightening than the Dunmer on the bed. Seeming on its own accord her body pivoted, bringing her face to face with the scarred and pale face of her ex-lover.

Her gut wrenched, her eyes so wide it was painful; yet she couldn't blink, couldn't scream, couldn't think. Stumbling backwards brought her nearly falling into warm arms that closed around her like open jaws swallowing her whole, a gloved hand lightly pressing over her mouth as if to confirm that her life was about to end. Yet no dagger came, no spell to obliterate her from the fingertips clutched over her face. Instead the same tender voice she'd heard before breathed across the small hairs on her neck, whispering into her ear.

"Now, now, my pet, calm yourself. You wouldn't want the whole of Markarth to know about our little rendezvous would you? I cannot imagine the townspeople would take kindly to you if they knew you were commissioning the Dark Brotherhood to take revenge you couldn't levy yourself." Her blood turned to ice in her veins as he spoke but gradually her pulse took up the semblance of its normal rhythm as it seemed like he didn't intend to kill her, at least not yet.

"See, that is much better. You really should try enjoying this more Muiri, it's such a shame to see you jump around like some frightened rabbit when you are getting exactly what you asked for," he continued, cautiously removing his hand from her mouth. That caution was unnecessary though, from his tone alone Muiri knew exactly what would happen if she screamed now, especially while his other arm was still encircling her waist.

"You said you completed the contract. How can you say that when here he stands? Are you mad or is this some twisted joke the two of you worked up to torment me?" she hissed, her voice wavering even as she demanded an answer from both of them.

But the assassin merely laughed, his lips close enough to her that she could feel the brush of them across her skin as he did so. The feel of them sent an unconscious tremor through her body, whether that was due to fear or something else was anyone's guess.

"Oh, my dear frozen lily," he said, once more using a nickname that made her cringe, "perhaps you need a closer look at your once beloved." She didn't have time to protest as his arm dragged her closer to the despised form of Alain. Now that she wasn't panicking her mind processed his appearance more completely, the dried blood along the collar of his clothing, the dead stare in his lifeless eyes. It was then that it clicked. Dufont was as dead as she had wished; merely a lifeless thrall bound to the mer behind her. "Now you see it, and that is but one present I've brought for you this evening." He smirked softly, spinning her in his arms so that she was facing a darkened corner of the room.

"Nilsine…." She gasped quietly, recognizing the now deceased woman that faded into view as her former friend. "Is she…?"

"But of course. That is what you asked for, was it not?"

"Yes…. But why did you raise their corpses?" Her brow was furrowed in confusion and silent glee; it was exhilarating to see the two people she'd desired dead standing lifeless before her, condemned to be puppets even after their lives had been ripped away, never mind how he'd managed to conceal them from her mere moments earlier when she had thought herself alone…

"Does it matter? You didn't seem interested in what would happen after they died…" His grip on her loosened as he walked over to grasp Nilsine's cold jaw, pulling it to the side as if to show Muiri the ragged gash that marred the flesh at her throat. Muiri cast her gaze quickly to the side, her arm coming up to rub nervously at the other.

"No, it doesn't matter. Your payment is on the table. And this is the bonus for killing Nilsine." She explained coldly, oddly less at ease now that he had let go of her. She gestured towards her coin pouch near her upturned stein as she worked a weather worn ring that had been once given to her by an optimistic suitor off her finger. Of course, that had all been prior to the death of Friga and the cursed meeting of Alain. She sat it down as well on the table before moving back towards the center of the room as it was the only place that wasn't occupied by either zombie or assassin.

"Oh do not look so sour, I merely tease. You see, I raised them both for a very specific purpose," he said with what sounded like an edge of seduction lacing his words, the payment for now being left as it was.

He held out his hand to her, beckoning her closer as the corpse next to him remained in the position he'd moved it to unblinkingly. Muiri was reluctant to accept his offered hand, still unable to see his eyes or the majority of his face in order to somehow decipher his intent from his expression. However whatever he had planned was likely less terrifying than what might happen should she anger him by refusing; so with a deep breath she reached for his gloved hand.

"You see, it was disappointing to hear that you could not find the nerve to kill them both yourself. After all you had the bravado to perform the black sacrament and prior to that mixing that poison specifically for the job. Thank you for that by the way, lotus extract does add such a poetic touch to things. Do you not agree? No? Well no matter, as I was saying; so why not the murder itself? And I thought to myself '_Perhaps it is not nerve she lacks but merely that she is in need of practice or perhaps instruction'._ So I decided that I would present you the chance to practice, to fulfill your deep desire to kill these two with your own hands." His smile persisted even as her expression became aghast once more.

From inside his robes he produced a finely crafted dagger, its edge wicked and glowing faintly red in the dim room. To her he offered the hilt, waiting casually for her as if he was merely handing her a butter knife for her bread.

"You want me to what? But… they're already dead! What point would it serve now?" She was astounded, her mind reeling with the oddness of the situation. Wistfully she even regretted contacting the Dark Brotherhood in the first place, seeing as it was turning into a far more dangerous endeavor than she'd ever dreamt it would.

"True they are dead, and it will not be quite as satisfying as it would have been if you had simply killed them yourself. However… are you honestly going to tell me there is no part of you that still wishes to plunge a dagger into Alain's heart? Or to stab the woman who betrayed your friendship in the back?" he asked her, dagger hilt still offered. "You should have heard them both… the things they uttered about you before they died…"

His words made her pause, her thin brows knitting together as her thoughts swam insider her head. At first she wanted to yell at him, at his madness and exclaim that she wanted nothing to do with it anymore… but she stopped herself as a tiny thought slithered forward. _'What would it matter if I stabbed them now? They're just corpses… there's nothing wrong or illegal about stabbing corpses…'_ it whispered silently to her and another cold shiver slipped down her spine. It was true, even if the guards where to bust in now they could both deny knowing where the zombies had come from. She could even claim she was defending herself from them, after all there was no way to tell who had raised them from the grave.

It was as if time had slowed for the budding alchemist… the warm metal of the dagger's hilt felt calming in her hands even if she didn't know how it had come to be in her hands and not his. she pivoted on unsteady feet, swaying in place until the face Alain once more filled her vision. Anger roiled from the depths of her being like a rising tide that tinted the world a dull red. It boiled and seethed from somewhere deep in her chest, fed by the countless nights she had spent in this very tavern pitying herself, by each bitter word the shatter-shield's had spit in her direction.

Her arm came up, swinging blindly as she tried to drive the dagger's tip home. But as the assassin had pointed out she lacked the skill needed to wield a blade, and no amount of hatred would give her that skill. The blade clattered noisily to the stone floor, having veered off course as it collided with Alain's shoulder at a bad angle. She cursed, her eyes bleary with searing tears as she disregarded the fallen weapon and instead pounded at Alain's cold chest with her bare hands.

The assassin watched in silence, it wasn't till she had released her anger fully and was merely sobbing that he moved to retrieve his discarded blade. But rather than sheath it he held it out to her once more without a word. Muiri mirrored his silence as she fought to quiet her weeping, letting the eerie calm settle in the void her anger had left behind.

Again she approached the body of her ex-lover, this time with cold calculation only edged with her hatred. Without a sound she plunged it into Alain's yielding flesh, and when it would sink no longer she pulled it back out and struck again, and again. Till the chest that she had once caressed was unrecognizable from being butchered so. There was little of his blood left to spill, but her sleeves were covered in a spattering of drops none the less; her hands were coated in the sticky black ooze that dribbled from the wounds she'd inflicted.

"See? Is that not better? More satisfying to appease your desire with your own hands?" That soft voice once more questioned her, but her mind had begun to numb in the wake of her anger and she had no words with which to answer him; merely staring blankly at his partially concealed face. "So, tell me, my frozen lily, are you satisfied? Or does that passion for revenge still burn hm? After all, you still have one more guest." He reminded her, gesturing elegantly to Nilsine in the corner.

Muiri's arms felt heavy, her body drained, but the more she looked at Nilsine's face the more the memories started to pour into her head.

_"Traitor!"_

_" Thief!"_

_" How dare you show your face here?! If I see your accursed face in this city again I'll rend it from your body completely!"_

How they had cursed at her, her pleas and explanations falling on deaf ears. How she despised their cruelness, could they not for a moment consider that she might be innocent? No, they had thought themselves above her. They had cast her out without a single thought, like one would trash onto the street. She'd been forced to leave her home and all she'd loved because of _them._

Once more she swung the blade, striking across the unmarked skin of her victim's face, gouging an ugly furrow from eye to jaw line. It wouldn't have been enough to kill Nilsine had she still been alive, but it ruined her once pleasing face. Muiri moved almost mechanically, forcing the zombie down onto its knees with the heel of her foot against its now exposed back. Down along Nilsine's spine went the blade, slicing through bones as if they were nothing. And she continued hacking away with renewed fury till the back of her victim was a mess of blackened blood and white bone peeking through the torn flesh and rent cloth. Muiri relished the chance, cutting each of her own frustrations out on the unmoving form beneath her.

When she had finished and her mind was once more catching up with the reality around her she let the blade fall from her tired fingertips, her eyes staring at her own gore splattered hands.

"And then the maid, hunger sated and drained from her own wishes, looked down upon the garden of her actions. To see the fruits of her labor laid bare before her, the fallen and damned but blooms at her feet," the shrouded mer said cryptically, stepping over the remains of his deceased thralls with ease despite the considerable mess they were now in. He handed her a cloth for her hands before heading over to the table to retrieve his payment. Muiri cleaned her hands off without thinking, her clothing ruined and her strength sapped out of her by her relinquished anger. She watched as he moved, wondering if he planned to leave her then with two butchered corpses and with what purpose he had done this for her.

"So what happens now? Do we both just pretend we never met and part ways?" She wasn't sure why she asked but she couldn't hold the words back as her nerves; raw from the entire ordeal and emotional turbulence, once more became on edge. He seemed unaffected by her question, as if the answer was obvious and went without saying as he picked his weapon up from where she'd dropped it moments before. "Well, at least tell me your name then," she pleaded hurriedly as he headed for the door.

At those words he paused, his hand on the handle as if caught for a moment in contemplation. The silence stretched out between them, flowing around Muiri and threatening to swallow her whole. After what seemed like ages and to her surprise he turned around, reclining back against the door as his arms came to rest folded over his chest.

"And why is it you wish to know? What do you hope to gain should you have that information?" He asked blankly; she had expected suspicion, but found none in his tone.

"I… uh... I wish to know because…" She was stuttering, not even sure herself why she wanted to know. After all it wasn't like she'd be able to tell anyone it; surely if she did she'd find herself in worse shape the bodies at her feet. Yet for some reason she couldn't just let him leave without knowing at least something about him. "I want to know because… because you've done more for me than anyone else ever has and I would thank you properly. You gave me not only what I asked for but allowed me to taste revenge for myself. I'll never forget your voice but I'd also like to know your name so that I may never forget it either…. and," she paused, trying to conjure up the nerve to say what was running through her mind. "and what my champion looks like as well."

"Champion… how very quaint." His lips pulled into a malicious grin and Muiri felt her chest tighten. She feared she'd pushed him too far, unwittingly angering him with her demands. Each footstep he took closer to her made her tremble, scarcely able to breathe at all as he closed the distance between them.

"Are you in the habit of interrogating murderers? It's a frighteningly dangerous hobby you know." His tone held more than just a threat to it, the way he accentuated the words bordered on the obscene and gave Muiri pulse a entirely different reason to pound.

Once more he reached for her; locking her in an embrace like a lover would. But where one would expect warmth and tenderness to be there was none; his body now cold, his touch like death itself along her jaw as he forced her head slowly up to look at him. She offered no resistance and no struggle, she didn't dare. The hand on her jaw caressed up her cheek and further until his fingertips were brushing the hair out of her eyes. She stiffened in his embrace unsure when the soft touch would turn violent but convinced it would.

The hood fell back along his shoulders and Muiri saw the last thing Nilsine and Alain had since before the died. Red hair tied back in a ponytail, features sharp enough to cut one's hand on giving way to green eyes that held a look completely alien to her. His skin was smooth, marred only by a tattoo sprawling along one of his cheeks which stood out against the grey of his skin.

"Well? Does my appearance match what you expected?" he asked, towering over her with sheer height difference alone. She shook her head, had she not been terrified and trembling she would have thought him handsome, the kind of mer she might have flirted with in the tavern, even with the blood red color of his hair and the exotic look of his face. But mere inches from her face with those unrelenting eyes peering down at her, she knew the face of death when she saw it.

"Ah I see, well perhaps that is for the better; my work would be rather difficult were everyone to think me an assassin from sheer looks alone. Now, as for your original request…" he continued, doing something that was so beyond what she'd expected that it obliterated every thought in her mind at that moment. It took her moments after the fact to realise he'd leaned forward and firmly pressed his cold lips against hers, a kiss that ended with her bottom lip bloodied as his sharp canines pricked it. He'd whispered his name afterwards, and released her from his monstrous hold, slipping out of the door without a sound.

"Thank you Malatu…" she murmured numbly as the name registered in her mind long after he'd already left.

* * *

It was some time later when she'd fully come to terms with what seemed like the most nightmarish dream that it occurred to her that she was still in an inn room with two corpses, both of which were connected to her. But even as she looked over their hacked at forms they began to disintegrate into ashes, leaving nothing to mark the event beyond her now throbbing bottom lip and her own blood stained clothes.


End file.
